Mad World
by GloriaNewt
Summary: Songfic based upon "Mad World" by Gary Jules. Unexpected news causes Constance to revisit her past...


**Authors Note: Hello, just a quick note to say that this story is based upon "Mad World" by Gary Jules. I love the song and hadn't listened to it in ages, but this little idea came to me when I heard it again recently. Reviews always appreciated!**

The apricot blaze of the early morning sun was rising sluggishly into the sky, its warm glow beginning to emerge slowly from behind the densely populated trees, the searching light dappling through the leaves in a glittering display, akin to the sparkling facets of a finely hewn diamond.

The wrought iron gate creaked, its rusting hinges protesting mildly at the exertion as the visitor entered the sacred ground, her footsteps echoing, seeming abnormally loud against the perfect stillness of the dawn.

**All around me are familiar faces****  
**

She shivered, the cold chill of the lingering night eating away at her exposed skin, causing her to pull her thick travelling cloak tightly around her slender shoulders, her hazel eyes scanning the surroundings with an analytical eye, guided by the vague emptiness of a long forgotten memory.

It had been years since she had set foot in the place.

Geoffrey M. Laurenson & Eve C. Laurenson , Matthew Hazelton, Daphne Egars, Silas Collins, Estella Day, R.D Baynes and K.B. Hanway all greeted her once more with a vague familiarity as she walked past, eternally patient as they welcomed the solitary visitor to midst of their lonely dwelling.

**Worn out places, worn out faces**

The mossy gravestones had changed little in the decade that had passed except for the elaborate calligraphy to dwindle to a further level of illegibility, the aged writing fading slowly into the obscurity of the past as it corroded away into non-existence, the elements smoothing the stone to its original state, a wiping clean of the slate of life as the grave and its occupant slowly returned to the earth.

She paused, inhaling sharply, her heart fluttering wildly in her chest as she paused at the simple double grave beneath a sprawling monster of a yew tree, laden with crimson berries, little bloodstains of red amongst the dark evergreen shawl.

William J. Hardbroom & Elizabeth M. Hardbroom

******Bright and early for their daily races****  
****Going nowhere, going nowhere**

Constance eased herself down to sit upon the dew-laden grass, settling beneath the towering canopy of the yew tree as she turned her attention to the grave, drinking in the still silence of the surroundings, refreshing the faded colours within the palate of her memory, the stagnant filth of time lifting from the landscape of her recollections, dancing with vitality once more as she focused upon the sunrise in front of her.

She rested her weary head upon the points of her frozen, willowy fingers, kneading her aching brow in an attempt to rearrange the frenzied thoughts within, trying to slow the maddening rush of anxiety at the situation she had found herself trapped within.

Facing the prospect of yet another sleepless night, she had slipped away from Cackles for a few hours in a desperate bid to find a surviving thread of hope within her, safe in the knowledge that not even Imogen would be awake at this ridiculous hour.

******Their tears are filling up their glasses****  
****No expression, no expression**

She had no idea why she had come to this place, a fuzzy memory of her past returning to her haunted mind, a magnetic pull guiding her from the academy, subconsciously seeking out the only refuge to flee to, a sanctuary where she could safely allow the adopted bravado to fall by the wayside, the illusion of control and logical efficiency crumbling away as she attempted to regain her control, terrified by the prospect of the events that lay in store for her.

She sighed as she turned her gaze once more to the clammy grave in front of her, vision blurring to a hazy muddle of confused shades as a blazing veil of tears rose within her, denied grief resurfacing from its murky grave within her psyche to taunt her once more, a faint sob escaping from within her constricted throat as she finally allowed the icy mask of disciplined calm to fall, the adopted wall of protection shattering beneath the weight of her dilemma, a stinging tear sliding slowly down her porcelain cheek, cooling rapidly within the light breeze which was playing around the graveyard.

******Hide my head I want to drown my sorrow****  
****No tomorrow, no tomorrow**

She had come here so often as a child, clutching fearfully at the velvet gloved hand of her mother as they knelt to place flowers upon the grave of Estella Day, frightened by the concept of death, curious yet troubled of the fact that the body of her aunt, the woman whom she had seen laugh and cry, lay still, devoid of life, a blank, rotting shell beneath the earth. But time had lingered and claimed its own victims, and now she sat alone, head in hands in her despair, abandoned in her hour of need, powerless to prevent the marching army of fate, her mighty powers useless in the fight against her own nemesis.

******And I find it kinda funny, I find it kinda sad****  
****The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had**

Sleep refused to come easily to her at the best of times, surviving upon a relentless diet of Wide Awake Potion in a bid to stem the flow of terrifying nightmares which prowled within her sleeping mind, feasting upon her mounting fear as she was forced to live through the traumatic recollections once more, a silent observer, powerless to intervene with the events of her past, held within the vice-like grip of the dream, paralysed, unable to even cry out in pain as she burnt from within, a white-hot dagger plunged directly into her side.

Yet, she couldn't bear to banish the nightmares, unable to release the ghosts of her past, each traumatic image clinging grimly onto her troubled psyche, indelibly etched into her soul, the screams of pain, the scattered lights of magic twinkling above her like stars in the night sky, muffled shouts of confusion, and then the pain, the unbearable searing pain as the broken bones pierced through her alabaster skin in a shocking blaze of ruby-red droplets, staining her white gown in a blossoming pool of sticky, viscous liquid, wincing as the cruel laughter echoed deafeningly within her ears, a hellish bray of mirth that cut through her raw nerves as efficiently as a guillotine blade. Then coming to, broken and bleeding, but alive, crawling doggedly across the stone floor, feeling the weight of cradling the frozen, lifeless corpse within her weakened, bony arms, frantically begging for a reply, urgently pleading for the familiar embrace, the soothing stroking of her hair that quelled all fears, the complete absence of movement or response causing a familiar fear to twist within her chest, knotting in a stranglehold around her heart, metal barbs digging into the fluttering organ at the chilling sound of the echoing silence, warm tears falling from her cheek in an unstoppable river as she gently stroked the greying, ashen cheek of the lifeless body of her mother, her father's corpse lying alongside, his hand still entwined within that of his wife, together within death, taking their last breath side by side and leaving the world of the living arm in arm, Constance's heart breaking once more as they were lost to her again.

**I find it hard to tell you, I find it hard to take****  
****When people run in circles it's a very very****  
****mad world mad world**

She could withstand the brutal pain, knowing that their faces remained lost to her except in the mystical world of dreams, buried deep within her sub-conscious, a traumatised vault of fear which contained the only image of her parents that she possessed, the sole means of access being the hellish journey through the night terrors and screams, tolerating the anguish for the momentary, tantalising glimpse of the beloved faces that constantly evaded her, the missing pieces of the jigsaw of her past, blank holes upon the canvas of her recollections. She would tolerate any level of pain and suffering to relieve those precious milliseconds within the nightmare, hungrily staring upon the broken images of her only flesh and blood, feasting upon each detail of their hazy faces, savouring every touch of her hair, every syllable to fall from between their lips, clinging desperately onto every micro inflection in pitch in the short snippets of speech that coloured her dreams, but her efforts to retain the information were as effective as holding water in her cupped bare hands, memories and images trickling away into the black depths of the nightmares, worming their way through the smallest of joins between her fingers, ebbing away to nothingness until all the detail had faded to the familiar hazy shade of grey.

Lost once more.

******Children waiting for the day they feel good****  
****Happy birthday, happy birthday**

She was there again. She closed her eyes, leaning back into the knotted bark of the ancient yew tree, breathing slowly as the hazy image of a nursery swam into her mind, the fuzzy memory shifting into focus, the catalyst of her parents clearing the fog of decades of denial from the murky shadows of her memories, clarity revelling in her mind like a pure ray of sunlight peeping hopefully from behind the oppressive mass of grey storm clouds.

An ornately painted rocking horse was moving gently upon the crimson red casters, his carved head nodding and rising in a sedate rhythm, tan leather stirrups swinging slowly in the breeze, his dark mane, plaited painstakingly by his creator, contrasted strikingly with his dappled paintwork, beautifully set off by the dark glass eyes which stared dutifully into space. A little girl sat carefully upon his padded saddle, her delicate fingers wound tightly into the braids of the dark mane, her narrow face taut with concentration as she rocked backwards and forwards, listening to the faint murmur of voices from the floor below. She smiled slowly, closing her eyes and raising her head as a daring ray of sunlight decided to inch its way dubiously across the bare wooden boards, gaining in confidence as its warmth radiated through the lofty space, blossoming into a glorious wash of golden light that dance playfully across the lids of her eyes, little flashes of colour speckling her vision in an abstract palate of illusions, a faint aura of magic shimmering around her young form as she felt the warmth of the morning sun upon her face, alive with the sheer joy of living.

Happiness blossomed within her as she leaned back further, rocking more wildly, riding high upon the soaring wave of delight. She had been overjoyed at the sight of her birthday present, a hand-crafted work of art from her father, the product of many secretive months of hard work. She had awoken to find both her parents sat patiently upon the end of her bed, her father with a loving arm around her mother's slender shoulders, placing a faint kiss playfully upon the end of her nose as they awaited their daughters return from her blissful sleep, a knowing glint of expectation within their eyes as they watched her sleep peacefully beneath the rose-patterned duvet, dark hair spread across the pillow, her chest rising and falling in a steady slow rhythm, a ragged teddy bear, his slightly moth-eaten coat and absent right ear bearing testament to his advanced years was tucked softly into the crook of her bent arm. Despite her mother's offers to repair the bear magically, she had always resisted, cherishing his battered appearance, delighting in the visible display of the love and joy that the stuffed toy had brought to previous generations of her family.

She could remember being led into the nursery, pausing only to gasp in delight, overwhelmed as she clutched her parents in a tight embrace, feeling her father's strong arms close around her slender waist, breathing in his familiar scent as he gathered her up, teddy and all, and placed her gently upon the soft leather saddle, his kind laugh rippling through the still air as he watched on, a fierce pride blazing passionately within his watering eyes, filled with an inexpressible love for both the raven-haired child and the sublime woman who was her mother.

******Made to feel the way that every child should****  
**

The scene shimmered, another memory resurfacing hazily as she allowed her feverish mind to run freely.

"Shhh, nearly done…" came the comforting whisper from behind her, a gentle, lulling contralto resonance. A cool finger gently wiped away the tears from her porcelain cheeks, "If you brushed your hair more often, it wouldn't get so tangled and painful, would it Connie?" A faint smile shimmered into view upon the angelic features as she stared over Constance's shoulder at the reluctant pout that was unfolding upon her daughters little face, little snow-white milk-teeth worrying mutinously at her lower lip as she struggled to relent and accept her mother's logic train of thought, shooting a furtive look at her mother from beneath a thick layer of uniformly curled eyelashes which framed two expressive eyes of liquid hazel, twinkling with a supressed assent. "That's my Connie," two warm arms snaked around her slender body and suddenly tickled her beneath her chin, causing her to squeal in surprised glee, the obstinate frown departing as abruptly as it had appeared. "Always right…" chuckled her mother as she administered the final stroke of the silver-backed hairbrush, transforming the wild mass of raven tangles into a sleek, shining tumble of dark curls, placing a kiss of approval upon her daughters head, cradling her securely in her arms, her musky scent entwining itself into Constance's long hair.

**Sit and listen, sit and listen**

Her eyes snapped open, staring blankly ahead as she bit down harshly upon her trembling lip, her hand rising to her mouth in a bid to stifle the howl of misery that was threatening to fly from her throat, a defiant scream of grief choking her from within.

She knelt upon the damp ground, barely noticing as the freezing droplets soaked slowly through the velvet material of her long dress, muddy streaks appearing amongst the pristine material as she leant forwards and touched the cool marble headstone with a shaky hand.

"There was always so much I wanted to ask you…" she choked, "So much I wanted to ask you, so much that I shall never know… all memories and secrets tied up in the web of the past."

She took a slow, steadying breath as she continued to relay her thoughts.

"But she's coming again, she's found me after all this time, hunted me down…"

"P-please, give me the s-strength to face her, for your sake I-if not for mine. After what she d-did to you…"

Tears trickled helplessly down her face as she stroked a trembling hand along the tombstone. Torn apart from her parents by the actions of one determined witch, a woman who would stop at nothing to achieve her goals.

"I'm so s-scared…" she stammered awkwardly, sitting back defeatedly and hugging her bony knees tightly within her thin arms, her usually steady voice cracking and rasping within her throat.

"I don't know what to do anymore…" she breathed, burying her face within her hands, sniffing quietly, alone in her world of desolation.

"H-help me, p-please…" she begged silently as she sat upon the sodden ground, her shoulders heaving beneath the motion of her wracking sobs.

"H-help me, M-mummy…D-daddy….Anyone…."

**Went to school and I was very nervous****  
****No one knew me, no one knew me**

It had been easier to shroud their deaths beneath a heavy veil of denial, still too young to full comprehend the full implications of their deaths, carefully pushing the grim reality to one side, avoiding the truth for year upon year, month upon month, determinedly burying herself deep within the unreachable depths of her work, gaining a scholarship to study at the elitist Witch Training College, taking refuge amongst the revered student body, gradually allowing the numbing waves of academia to detract from her pain, slowly fading away to a solitary figure, gliding unnoticed through the ancient halls of magical education like a ghost, barely eating or sleeping, fuelled only by the promise of the escape offered by the option of studying, the only antidote to the gnawing agony of loss.****

**Hello teacher tell me what's my lesson****  
****Look right through me, look right through me**

****The scars left by her childhood had never relinquished her from their desperate grasps, feasting with glee upon each new addition to her crumbling state of mind. Merely surviving beneath the tyrannical reign of Hecketty Broomhead had strengthened her resolve, outwardly forming the defensive wall of perfection, a ramrod posture, infallible results, gaining perfect marks upon every single exam that she ever sat within the college, but constantly taunted by the malicious predator, the venomous spider that sat observing her coldly, preying ruthlessly upon any weakness deigned unacceptable that she had unwittingly displayed, trapped, a fly within the web of Broomhead's control, powerless to resist, she lived in fear for her life.

******And I find it kinda funny, I find it kinda sad****  
****The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had**

She had once dreamt of death beneath the excruciating torture, a blessed release from her torment, a painless exit from a wretched world that had long since forsaken her, walking hand in hand with her parents once more, free from the chains of oppression and tyranny that bound her firmly to earth beneath the weight of their mighty shackles.

**I find it hard to tell you, I find it hard to take****  
**

Life had appeared to steady and improve, graduating with the highest marks ever awarded by the WTC, she was eminently employable and could have selected her employer at will, but had instead accepted the offer of a kindly grey-haired witch, the post of potions mistress at a distinctly second rate academy. Amelia Cackle had been able to provide the vital security, love and trust that had slowly begun to rebuild the shattered foundations of her life, reassembling her broken spirit piece by piece but the arrival of the letter had dislodged her from her state of recovery, pitching her headlong into the icy abyss of her past, fretful, anxious and terrified at the planned return of her former tutor, the imperious, sadistic inspector, Hecketty Broomhead.

She pulled the crumpled letter from within her robes, smoothing the creases within the well-thumbed document that marked the complete circle of events within her life. Her troubles began and ended with Broomhead, the unsolvable enigma which governed the key to her past and her future, suspended helplessly within a tortured limbo at the mercy of the demonic witch. The neat signature stood out starkly from the yellowing parchment, emblazoned in a confident black sweep of immaculately formed letters, the order of execution which hung heavily over her neck, the exhausted prey finally cornered, wide-eyed and trembling at the fictional mercy of the bloodthirsty huntress.

**When people run in circles it's a very very****  
****Mad world, world****  
****Enlarge your world****  
****Mad world**

The sun was now climbing steadily into the sky, its intensifying rays reminding her that her presence would soon be required at the academy.

She had to be strong, she reasoned to herself as she rose wearily to her feet, a brisk wave of her hand banishing the muddy streaks from the pristine material of her full length gown. She had to fight, not only for her parents memory, but for the academy, for Amelia, to stand by her side, the loyal deputy, the unshakable, unstoppable Constance Hardbroom, efficient, logical, fearless and powerful, the most effective disguise that she had ever developed, the persona of the strict disciplinarian that she portrayed, a faultless actor in disguise, hiding ably behind her projected mask of quiet, self-assured confidence.

She turned to the grave, closing her eyes patiently as a faint, pink shimmer of magic escaped from her casting fingers, causing stems of white and blood-red roses of intertwine into an elaborate wreath which descended to lie protectively upon the soil.

"Until the next time…" she murmured quietly, turning upon her heel and walking slowly away, her defeated posture straightening with every purposeful step, the look of fear and torment diminishing and retreating behind the iron screens within her eyes, escaping wisps of ebony hair retreating obediently into her trademark tight bun, her striding lengthening, heels rapping out a consistent ostinato upon the solid stone path as she strode away purposefully, assuming the character once more, playing the game of life, gritting her teeth firmly as she prepared for the insanity to begin once more.


End file.
